


Of Masters and Men

by Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Drama, Friendship, M/M, Master/Servant, Roleplay Logs, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion/pseuds/Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sold into slavery by his own family to work in elite house, Johnathan Watson is sent away to live in the grand and powerful estate of the Holmes household. The House of Holmes, far beyond their common upper class family.  Another RP</p><p>DWL221B_C: Sherlock Holmes, Master Holmes, James Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes</p><p>RPer: John Watson, Sebastian Moran, Mycroft Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John bowed his head and knelt on the floor. He still couldn't quite believe that his parents had sold him. Apparently he was supposed to be a birthday gift, A coming of age present. He'd always known it was possible, of course. Kids stopped showing up in class, and months later you heard that they'd been sent off who-knows-where to live with middle aged businessmen. Maybe whoever he was given to would get bored of him and let him go. Or have a girlfriend or wife who didn't approve. He couldn't stop hoping.

"Now you listen to me," the old man coughed and forcing John to focus on him as he paced, "when you meet Master Holmes you are not to look him in the eye and do not speak unless spoken to, understand? After you meet him, we will get you dressed and cleaned for Master Sherlock, so keep your sniveling to a minimum."

"Yes, sir," John said meekly, looking around for a second pair of feet to signal the other man's arrival. He didn't want to be surprised by another person, and did resent the accusation of sniveling, but he had spent the last three nights crying himself to sleep, so maybe it had some basis in truth.

"Excell- he approaches now," the old butler of feathery white hair stepped back and bowed when the door was opened, "Good sir, It has arrived as you asked."

"Good..." the man adjusted his vest and rolled up his sleeves. Walking to John, he found a small young man, blonde, slender. Then using his walking stick, forced John's chin up so he could look at him properly, "Hmmm..."

John shivered, terrified, as the rather imposing man studied him. Eyes carefully averted, he waited for either some kind of instruction or for the man to ask him a question. Neither seemed forthcoming, so John concentrated on keeping his breathing steady even as his heart leapt into his throat and doubled its pace.

"You know who you are working for so I feel no need to introduce myself," Master Holmes walked away and sat in his chair by the fireplace, peering down at him through his glasses, "And because of my name standards and rules must be adhered to and accepted. You are to stay at my son's side and serve him, follow any order he gives you. If not I will surely find out and be sure to have it sorted out."

The man leaned back and took the prepared drink that was on the small table next to him. Sighing and musing, he ran a hand through the slicked back hair and continued once more.

"Remember you have no rights in this household. I own you and you are to do all that is told. You mean nothing to me so you are easily replaceable."

Keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, John silently fumed. In the back of his mind he knew all that, but the clinical way in which the information had been relayed had been unnecessarily hurtful. Another jab into him and John did not like it one bit. "Yes, sir," He repeated, twisting his fingers together. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't be as bad as his father. Then again, maybe he'd be worse and John should be treasuring these moments while he had them. There was the rather unfortunate circumstance that he had no way to find out until it was too late. There was a little part of him that wanted to ask exactly how replaceable he was, whether he'd just be sent away at the first sign of a mistake, but that would be going against what the old butler had told him, so he held his tongue.

"Indeed, Alex, take him away," waving his hand as if suddenly bored.

"Yes my lord, come, come you," the old man picked him up roughly by the arm and lead him outside, "Well at least you kept his interest. Master was pleased."

In the small seconds Alex dragged him to the door, John dared the small moment to peek at his new guardian and may have been a mistake. Their eyes met. The veins ran cold and John's stomach twisted to the point of feeling sick. His curiousity showed him the figure that sat in the stuffed, red armchair and despite the shadows that ran over him with the fireplace behind him, John saw it all.

A pair of eyes made of ice stared back, the blackened hair combed back, taller and thin man. Still, what frightened him the most was this man's expression because it was not anger for a lowly person such as himself to look directly to one of higher status, no, instead he found a smile. And so much was said in that smile, without needing to open his lips, John could hear him and his voice of control, "Mine. Ownership. Slave." What seemed an endless trek throughout this massive home of an estate John was lead down the hallways and then lead up a tower as Alex explained some of the regulations and where a servant's place should be.

"And finally this is the servant's tower, so all the other Master's and guests are in the North tower."

If that was pleased, what on earth was the alternative? John supposed he did not want to know the answer to that. There were a lot of rules, some of them silly (like having to stand and turn away when you were cleaning something and a member of the household walked by), and some of them just common sense (treating guests with the same courtesy as the people who lived in the house). With any luck at all, he'd be good at them within a week.

"Will I be staying here, sir?" John asked, looking up the staircase. He'd heard of slaves literally living with their masters, but he didn't know what this house was like.

"That depends what Master Sherlock wants..." Alex merely answered and when upstairs drew a cold bath, helping John out of the somewhat raggedy clothes, "Generally we live here, bath here, sleep here. But as a personal manservant, you, Master Sherlock might have you do something else."

John nodded and let Alex pull his clothes off and a small feeling told him he should be feeling somewhat awkward about it, but he found himself too numb to care. Slowly as he could until Alex barked at him to hurry John slipped into the cool water and grimaced for a moment before beginning to scrub vigorously with a bar of soap and a coarse flannel. It was unpleasant, yet he realized it was another norm he would have to adapt to.

Not too long later, Alex had John in the standard dress that they all wore especially those who worked close with the Holmes. Black slacks and matching jacket, white button down with vest over it. Topping it all off with a black tie and white gloves.

"There now you look fit," Alex could not help but smile slightly and gruffed at John for him to follow. Back down and into the labyrinth of halls, John was escorted to the north side of the estate, an area more for his masters and climbed a grander stair case that lead up to the Holmes living quarters.

"Listen here boy... you should at least know that Master Sherlock is...is a bit different than most boys. Queer perhaps and I never said that! Also he is to be treated like a Holmes, same as his father. Keep on your feet," Alex nodded and lightly patted John's back.

Wondering what that could possibly mean, John nodded again before entering the living quarters and standing unobtrusively off to the side of the room. The size of it could have fit a small cottage, complete with its own fireplace, another small room off to the side for bathing, and bed complete with canopy. Near the window, built into the window sill was a cushioned couch, and near it a desk and chair for what John assumed was his schooling. Other than that was a large bookcase filled and a mahogany wardrobe with the most intricate carvings John could not see very well in the dim lighting. There were voices in the hallway and he presumed that was the family coming to show Sherlock his gift, as unsavory as that idea was. John shut his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to watch the door.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you Mycroft, I think I can manage the door on my own," he said sarcastically and shut the door before his older brother could say anything more. "Hmm yes..." he walked past John as if unnoticed and sat in his chair, except he sat on his haunches with the palms of his hands clasped together, "it is interesting..."

John presumed that either he was 'it' or he was being completely ignored. The latter of those two was far more appealing, but he could deal with the first if he had to. Given where he was and the new person in the room he also presumed that the boy sitting was this Sherlock boy everyone had been talking about. Glancing over at him, John decided that his new master was rather more attractive than he'd dared to hope, but also had an air of superiority about him that would need to be backed up by an awful lot of something (besides money) if John was going to respect it at all.

"Do you enjoy music?"

"…"

"I know you are not deaf, you can speak to me."

Was that something John was supposed to answer, then? "Yes, Master Sherlock," he murmured, still not looking at the boy.

"Good, I tend to play the violin for a good length of time at which I would you prefer you stay close just in case I need you or something," Sherlock flickered his eyes over to John, "Hence why I ask because you will here a good deal of it."

"Of course, master Sherlock." Why bother asking? If he was told he had to stand in a beehive for the next five hours, he'd damn well do it because John valued his life, and at the moment it seemed the best way to take care of it was to do what he was told.

"This pleases me," Sherlock gave a smile and stood up, "Don't tell me my father's gotten to you. Rather he is frightening and we do not see eye to eye on some matters. And there is no need to avert your eyes, I am not the son of Medusa, nor will I turn you into rock salt."

Striding slowly to where he positioned himself on the other side of the room, Sherlock reached out a hand, forced John's chin up so he could look at him properly. Smiling at Sherlock's choice of words, John properly looked up at the other boy for the first time. His split-second assessment seemed to be correct, still one matter. Instead of the black slicked back hair of his father it bunched into rebellious curls and other than that the resemblance was near uncanny. A familiar pair of ice eyes stared at him again and a similar smile was there with a warmer message of greeting… John hoped he was interpreting this correctly.

"Thank you, master Sherlock," he murmured, still grinning.

"And manners, that's good. You see, Father attempted this with a few others boys, though they did not keep my interest nor were they of good company at all. I think you might be... my fourth if I am correct..." Sherlock mused for a moment, "Anyway, what do you make of the estate? Or better yet, my father? Your honesty will not leave this room I can assure that," Sherlock added quietly and sat back in his chair, watching with interest.

"The estate is beautiful, Master Sherlock," John answered, "But I'll admit your father scares me a bit." Their introduction had been rather unnerving, and if he was being honest with himself, he did not want to repeat anything like that in the near future. Furthermore, he wasn't looking forward to seeing the man again, even in passing.

"I do hope that I'll be able to adjust to life here before you tire of my inevitable mistakes," John watched Sherlock carefully, trying to guess his response.

"Inevitable mistakes? Well I cannot have that from someone Ordinary like you," his eyes furrowed with concern and he began to circle around John with his hands clasped behind his back, "You know of my father, you know how powerful our family is and how far our influence may stretch. When I give a command you will do as told and will do so correctly the first time. If not, I would rather straighten you out myself. Do you follow me, John?" Sherlock ended that as he breathed into John's ear from behind.

"Yes, Master Sherlock," John shivered. He was wrong. Sherlock was definitely more unsettling than his father. In realization the greeting smile was a mere rouse to force John to relax and to be honest; such thinking was raising his feeling of panic. With some rationalizing John found Sherlock was at least smaller than his father, although that could have just been his age.

And Sherlock, despite the power in his voice, did not come across as someone who would lash out physically and probably wouldn't be able to hit him nearly as hard. Then again if Sherlock was not the sort to retaliate physically how else would John be punished if caused Sherlock displeasure? The more John thought the more he realized how much he was scaring himself, so he focused all his energy into his hand, flexing it as if he could crush the anxiety away.

"I am pleased, I think you will do well for my John, a good enough companion most likely," he suddenly began to smile once more and paced about restless, "Did you have an siblings? I have one on my own and he has been such a bother to me all day. Personally I think he has a queer obsession with cake... something to investigate," Sherlock stopped pacing and looked to the ceiling with his hands together.

"I have a sister, Master Sherlock," John watched Sherlock pace and thought about her. There had been a falling out with their parents when she brought home another girl, but she was a year older than he was and had already left the house, so there was not much they could do about it. He wondered briefly whether she knew what had happened, but that was a question he'd probably never know the answer to.

"We got along really well." Glancing up, he searched Sherlock's face for a reaction.

"And how is her female lover doing?" Sherlock raised his eyebrow and tipped his head a little to see him, "Must have been very interesting row I imagine. Bit of a surprise no? Personally I don't care about such things; it's silly for people to care. Feelings are people's feelings, yes, and still I do not understand the spectrum of human emotion. It's all too logical!"

John said nothing. Not only did he not know, but it was none of Sherlock's business how Harry's girlfriend was anyway. He did, however, give a little huff of breath and frown into the distance. All he wanted to do was get the introductions over with and find something to do to distract himself.

"Older… yes she is older by?" Sherlock further pressed him and John kept his calm present.

"Another year Master Sherlock."

"I am guessing that makes her a girl of seventeen summers than?"

"Um, well, yes and-"

"You are a year younger, me even a year younger than you. Interesting."

"Yes, Master Holmes," John was still confused how Sherlock interpreted all of it, for the lord's sake the two had just met. Was it these eyes that could see everything?

"Well forget about that, I think it's time to go, time to switch out," Sherlock said hurriedly and began stripping his shirt off, which to John's sudden hidden blush and thanking his stars it was dark. Sherlock swiftly moved to his wardrobe and rummaging around.

"You need to change too, can't have our clothes get dirty, the maids would get suspicious despite their dullness." With haste Sherlock tossed John a pair of ruffed up trousers and shirt, slightly worn, "You good at climbing as well?" he asked and slid off his trousers, John facing the other way to block himself from indecency.

"Climbing?" John asked, taking his new clothes and hurriedly pulling them on. "Um, I don't think so. I don't really... climbing what?" New outfit arranged properly, John folded up his clothes from before and stacked them into a neat pile. The ones Sherlock gave him were a bit too big, but not so much that they were impractical. He had to admit, though, that he had no idea what he was getting into.

"Where are we going?"

"Now that is the good question. You are quicker than the last one..." Sherlock smirked and adjusted his own clothes, appearing just that of street rat from the inner city. Comfortable enough to run around in and if caught, talk his way out before he could be discovered he was a Holmes. Taking the blankets and sheet off the bed, Sherlock began to tie them together, "Well come on, help out! Be faster this way."

The servant double-checked Sherlock's knots then tied a few of his own. At least a few of his farm skills could be of use here. Still, John was unsure why they were tying sheets together- it didn't seem very practical- but he was hardly in a position to refuse. Sherlock wasn't wearing his normal clothes, and looked more like John and his friends had, before, than someone from his estate. A thought occurred to John.

"If we're going to do this a lot, you might want to ask Alex what he did with the clothes I came here with." They'd actually fit him, after all, and they would blend in even better than what he had at the moment.

"Oh, they are already burning in the furnace I can assure you, now hold tight," Sherlock wrapped one end around the heavy bed leg post and threw the rest out the window, "If I die because of any of your stupidities then you would have to deal with my father and that would be rather bad."

The Holmes boy with reckless abandonment rappelled out the window and continued to drop down every few meters.

For a moment, John had to not imagine all the possibilities of pain and suffering that would be inflected on him by Master Holmes. In attempted reassurance he told himself he would stay so close in line so as not to feel his wrath and two, he could not fail Master Sherlock because his every existence hinged on it. One last heaved sigh helped John grip his makeshift rope and climbed down it, hand-over-hand like him and his mates would do in the barn to test their strengths. The brick of the walls tore at the skin as he climbed, but he did not trust his skills enough to rappel down like Sherlock had. Once his feet were firmly on the ground again, he looked to Sherlock for instruction.

"Well done, the one before you before him broke his neck. At least you know what you are doing. Let's go," Sherlock started to run ahead through the grounds and dodging a few of his father's men who guarded the perimeter, and made it to the forest's edge. With nighttime about, there was a dark, heavy shade in between the trees and owl hooting off in the distance somewhere.

"Light a torch John, going to need one."

"But... I don't have..." John frowned. He had not been given anything but his clothes, and failedt realized that they were far enough from the city to be running about in the woods anyway. The comment about the last one breaking his neck was worrying on several levels, but he was not sure if that was something he really wanted to ask about, given the demonstrated disregard for John's personal safety and well-being. He followed Sherlock into the trees, growing increasingly nervous at the unfamiliar environment.

"O yes! Here," a box of matches were tossed to John, "There's some dry brush and branches there, could use those..." Sherlock stood in a particular spot and walked a number of paces in a certain direction. Feeling the raised soil, he began to dig on the spot and unearthed a small chest, pulling out a few things. Then leaning over and feeling a hollow tree, pulled out a shovel.

Meanwhile John wanted to protest that you could not even make a proper torch with those things, but arguing wasn't going to solve anything. He pulled a green branch off of a nearby tree and managed to split it apart, then shoved a good sized handful of kindling into it. Holding onto the other end, he lit the bundle and shoved a bunch more into his pockets before going to rejoin Sherlock. A shovel? What on earth was Sherlock looking for? Silently, he tried to shed light over where the other boy was looking.

Silently Sherlock read over the map with new light and checked his compass once more before deciding on a direction. Waving an arm, the pair began to walk further into the woods, stepping over thick roots and climbing through the under thicket. At some point he led John to a small creek and stooped down for a drink.

"You have questions?"

"Several," John agreed, watching Sherlock drink, "But I don't know which ones I want to know the answers to," He dipped his hand into the creek then pushed a handful of twigs into his makeshift torch. It didn't burn him, so clearly that had been the right approach.

"You may ask. Despite the warning information I have presented you with tonight I'm not going to kill you or harm you in this secluded wilderness for my own enjoyment, John," he smirked.

"Have you really managed to get several of your previous slaves killed?" the servant asked carefully and kept himself on the balls of his feet if he needed to run. That was the most pressing of the list.

"I never killed any of them. I didn't touch a single hair on their heads. The first one thought he might try to steal from my father's office and I caught him, presented to him to Father and that night, never heard from him again. I was six and I guess technically a personal servant, though he frequently watched over me. Like I said the second was gravely injured from the adventure we are on now, so that was his fault, I think he departed from his injuries later. Finally the third one committed suicide because-" Sherlock sudden pause caught John by surprise until the voice reeled him in.

"I… I think he could not stand me or something. He was rather stupid. Git," Sherlock ticked them off quickly and sounded bored.

"Second one?" Whatever the explanation was supposed to be, it certainly wasn't a comforting one, "Where are we going? And why do you have a shovel?"

"Digging up a corpse, what else?"

"Right, a corpse, of course." John pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. He was stuck with a psychopath.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's sociopath, not psychopath," Sherlock noted matter of fact after studying John's face and stood up, "We should press on, have to account for the walk back."

"Lead the way, then." John set off after Sherlock further into the woods and managed to keep from asking where he'd got the corpse from in the first place. It was another hour until the tree line finally broke, opening them up to a field, the remnants of a few candles in the windows of the church off in the distance. Sherlock glanced around, keeping his eyes low to the ground, checking for soft spots in the earth.

"It's somewhere around here... the church declared it suicide but I think differently. Not to mention I was interested on studying some of the human marrow and whatever remaining tissue remained. It will be useful for me if this is going to work."

Ew. Simple, still, the though made John ill so he nodded, but made no effort to show enthusiasm for the endeavor. He came up on a mound of dirt and looked over at Sherlock.

"I think this might be it," John called, looking down at it distastefully.

"Yes..." Sherlock began sniffing the air and handed John the shovel, "Dig."

Looking around John found a suitable spot and stabbed the end of the torch into the ground before starting to clear the soil out of the way. He was sure he had several feet to dig before he'd get to the body, which was good. Once he'd formed a small pile, John shoved the torch into it instead, trying his best to keep the field from lighting on fire, and resumed his digging. The mindless work kept his mind off of how terrified he was.

A young man of Sherlock Holmes's status sneaking out of his home in the dead of night to go and unbury the- … the dead. Remembering Alex's words John felt they were incorrect because queer did not even cover it. The whole ordeal was far past the realm of normality and it was enough for his legs to shake and buckle if he dwelled on it for too long. Though John had one issue. In full blown disrespect Sherlock sat on a head stone next to their grave, sometimes shifting around for a better position, and nonetheless his eyes remained fixed. Knowing he was being watched, assessed, analyzed was completely unnerving.

"There it is!" Sherlock jumped up when he heard the shovel tip hit something with a thud, "Push down at that end so it'll stand up, I'll pull it from the top... Ready, and heave!" the boxed bobbed for a moment and almost made it, "Once more...Up!" Resurfacing the box tipped over, the sound of the body clunked around inside, "At least they had the decency to accidently leave the rope behind. Throw it up and meet me up here, unless you want to stay? Would you enjoy remaining down there?"

"No," John said, thoroughly grossed out by the body. He threw the rope out of the hole and scrambled out after it. The decomposing corpse smelled awful from where he'd been standing in the hole, and it wasn't much better from above it.

The rope was used to tie around the box and when knotted tight, Sherlock handed John part of the rope, picked up the torch, and together they began to pull through the woods again.

It was not easy especially when the corners would catch on a rock or would sink in muddy spots. Not to mention the smell did not bother Sherlock at all, becoming far too use to it by this point. All the other times he had taken his servants out, none of them successful until right now. Either it was out of fright or receiving a neck injury that got them out of the task, aggravating the young Master because he had been at this alone for so long.

"I assume you never expected this part?"

"No, I certainly didn't," John agreed, still dragging the box after him. "Where are we taking this?" He had the sneaking suspicion that he was dragging it all the way back to Sherlock's house, and that was not going to be a pleasant walk in the least.

"Near the mansion, though not inside the property limits of course. For now we will keep it near the edge of the forest, work more tomorrow night, I might have a place for us to work alone. We need all the time getting back up and everything," Sherlock slightly panted as the rope strained over his shoulder.

They made it to the edge of the woods by hiding it underneath some leafs and rocks, then headed back on to the grounds proper, but as they ran back to the house John found himself stopped by a rather large man. He looked up slowly, with a sheepish grin of innocence. Sherlock had stopped just out of view of the man, but had made no move to save John from the guard.

"What are you doing here boy? What is it that makes your business roaming around this late at night?" he asked, grunting and slightly staggering from his drink.

"I'm very sorry, sir," John said softly, but he unsure how to explain his presence. For whatever reason, he did not think that "I was out grave robbing" would be a proper explanation. "Master Sherlock asked me to accompany him on a walk around the grounds." That was close to the truth, he supposed.

"Accompanying him on a walk hmmm? And I suppose he tore at your clothes and made you dress like that?" the man shot his hand forward and picked John up by his shirt, "If anything, I think you might have been trying to escape. Bad move you, unless maybe you were trying out thievering. In that case I should beat you where you stand, but Master Holmes would be angry at me for- ... for..." he blinked and shook his head, knees beginning to buckle. Slowly he slumped to the ground, holding his neck while his other hand released John.

"I'm surprised it worked!" Sherlock jogged over, "I always needed a test subject."

"Test subject?" John asked, rubbing his neck. "For what?" Presumably some sort of sedative or something. As long as John wasn't being beaten for trying to escape, he did not really care how he'd avoided the fate.

"Something I read in a book, natives in Southern America using reeds or hollow branches, shooting out small darts or arrows tipped with poison," he stooped down to the fallen man and pulled out a small makeshift dart, "See. Now, let's hurry before he wakes up," he grinned to John and pulled him up, making his way back to the window with the makeshift rope.

Waiting for Sherlock to get about halfway then did John begin following. His arms felt weaker than they had earlier, but the added adrenaline from the earlier panic was helping somewhat. With the last strength in his arms he clamored through the window and fell onto the floor before reaching up to pull the sheets in after him. When Sherlock slumped into his chair waiting for him he was tired to move and was interested to find John had started untying the knots and arranging them on Sherlock's bed.

"Thank you... I didn't even have to order you. You just knew what to do... I'm keeping you," Sherlock grinned and tilted his head at his manservant, "Yesss, nice. When you are done, meet me in the bathroom."

In a way, though he would never admit it, this new one made him a bit giddy, even proud. This one put up with going to a hollowed grave and raised the dead with him, in normal society such people would have greatly resisted, yet not this one. How odd. Furthermore, John did not tell the guard where they had been, for he could have told the truth if he thought it would save him his skin, Sherlock thought as he watched John for a moment.

When he was finished tidying the bed, John followed Sherlock into the bathroom. He had the vague notion that he was supposed to give the other boy a bath or something, but that wasn't something he'd ever had to do before. He stood near the door and waited for instructions. This was much harder than making someone's bed.

"Strip down and climb in," the bath water was beginning to fill, a bit of steam rolling up, "You need to be especially cleaned up, I know the bath they gave you was tonight, though I tend to take mine in the day. It would not make sense if you woke up in filth when you were previously scrubbed," Sherlock explained and toed off his own shoes, standing on one foot to rub them.

Red-faced, John climbed into the bath and took a moment to revel in the warmth before starting to scrub himself off. He'd consider it a victory if he got the corpse smell off, though getting the dirt out from under his fingernails would be even better. Soap in hand and a small brush in the other, Sherlock started with the back and worked his way up and down the arms especially.

"I'll need you to turn around for the hands," he said quietly and when John did so, rubbed more soap in and brushed on top of the finger nails, "Must feel a lot nicer compared to what Alex must have given you before."

"Yeah," John agreed, letting Sherlock fuss over him (him! a slave!). "The water's warm this time, at least." Sherlock finished before long and John stepped out and wrapped himself in a worn towel. "Should I do you, now?" He asked, looking Sherlock over. The other boy wasn't half as filthy as John, but could still use a good scrub.

"Are you asking because I might need it or because you can?" the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smile, "Thank you for asking too. Don't think this will happen often either, only for special occasions will you be allowed in here."

"No need to thank me. You look like you could use one." A night stealing bodies could do that to a person. "There's no need for you to go to bed dirty. Yes, I understand Master Sherlock."

"How considerate, fine..." Sherlock slipped off his shirt and tossed it lazily, then pulled down his trousers with his back to John, stepping inside the still warm bath. He sighed with relaxed relief and cracked his neck side to side.

"I am ready now, John. You may begin."

Swallowing a small gulp, the nerves in his stomach coming in waves, John rubbed some soap onto his hands and ran them over Sherlock's body, quickly and almost clinical in his technique. He lingered only over places where one pass wasn't enough to get the dirt off. Still he dared to leave Sherlock to his own privacy, past the waist especially and happy to have the bubbles conceal his body further. Already enough the two were scratching out proper boundaries. Then again maybe this happened more often than not? No, perhaps only with personal servant slaves… John tried to dwell on this instead of his Master's skin to stave from temptation. Within minutes, Sherlock was clean and John stepped back, holding out a towel eyes averted.

"Hmm..." the young master mused and took the towel from him, wrapping it around his waist shivering slightly when he felt the cool air, "Let us warm by the fire, at least we'll dry faster and it's more comforting," walking past John and back inside his room. A few embers remained and a fan was there to restart it. Sitting down cross legged on the flush carpet, Sherlock waited for John to start it up again.

"Please, join me. Your company has been very much welcomed so far...I have yet to be disappointed."

Without a word, John crossed the room and sat down next to Sherlock. He didn't know what to say, so he simply sat back on his heels and watched the fire. Sherlock was still a complete bastard, but John had made it through his first day, and he was sure that things couldn't get much worse after that.

"Are you alright? Won't be too tired for tomorrow's chores will you?" Sherlock asked, watching the flames begin to dance and move about.

"No, I'll be all right. I just need to get to sleep soon," John sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to stay awake until he was dismissed. It had been a very long day.

"Mhm..." Sherlock rubbed a spot on the floor, a nail in between the floor boards were the Persian rug ended and then stood up. A minute later he was wearing pajama bottoms, before tossing John a pair as well, "We'll catch a cold if we were to remain unclothed, go on. Hurry up."

Yawning himself, Sherlock walked to his newly made bed and pulled the blankets back to slide underneath. Another moment passed when he cleared his throat imply a sleepy impatience when his servant had yet to move. Ah. So John was going to be sleeping in the same bed as him. That was somewhat unfortunate. He slid into his pajamas, then crawled into bed next to him, lying stiffly on his back and trying to will himself to sleep and forget who lay next to him. Yes it was Sherlock, a seemingly mad, though interesting boy. The danger still was he was a Holmes. Holmes. A sold farm boy slave into the Holmes Household.

"Night...John..."

"Good night, Master Sherlock," John said softly.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was a restful one, Sherlock in his sleep ended up slinging his arm over John and curling his body into himself. It made sense to have his slave there, keeping him warm and comfortable, at least that seemed most logical. Eventually the fire would die out and the cold would seep into the room, but not with natural body heat. Another night of no dreams as other Ordinary people must have imagined, until Sherlock groggily woke up when he heard the soft rap on his door.

"...go...away..." he mumbled.

"They have breakfast Sherlock, you should come-"

"No Mycroft... mmmm..."

At the same time underneath him John blinked slowly awake and found himself wrapped in Sherlock's arms.

"You really should eat," he said quietly, rolling over and brushing a lock of hair out of Sherlock's face and then felt silly about doing so, trying to mask it, "Come on, up you get," he pushed the blanket down the bed and started trying to get Sherlock to sit up.

"I thought I was the one that gave orders around here," Sherlock pouted and made his body limp and heavy, "Seems I can't get out of bed, guess I'll be skipping breakfast, but you should go."

"Honestly Sherl," young Mycroft opened the door and saw himself in, pausing a moment to find John with Sherlock, "So this is the new one?"

"Don't call me 'Sherl' My," the younger brother mouthed back, "And the answer is no, to both your questions. No breakfast."

"And why is he lingering in bed with you?" Mycroft raised a scowling eyebrow and John who watched him confused a moment and remembered his place, nearly tripping out of bed as he stood straight.

"Apologies Master Mycroft! I am Sherlock's new serv-"

"Slave," Mycroft corrected him, observing the new boy stand straight in his presence.

"Apologies once more then Master Mycroft. Slave, yes. Forgive me and my improper behavior," John looked away when Sherlock snorted.

"Do not bother using formalities on him, just trying to annoy me is all," a voice crept out from under the covers.

"Well did not mean to frighten or scold you, that is not usually our policy because that is usually… usually Father's area," Mycroft lessened his tone, Sherlock removed a cover to stare properly and together the brother exchanged a glance. Seeing these two look to one another John felt something was going on between them, a reading of the minds because at the mere mention of Master Holmes there was a turn. Finally the older brother shook his smile and gave John a small pat of reassurance, a sort of welcoming to the house.

"See you at breakfast then, Sherlock," he said and saw himself out. With that over there was some searching through the closet, John set an outfit out for Sherlock.

"I'm supposed to serve you during breakfast, but my clothes are in the other tower, would it be all right for me to meet you there?" Luckily, as the boy's personal slave rather than one that belonged to the household, his duties did not have start until after Sherlock had been fed. Otherwise he'd really be in trouble.

"Why not use the ones you wore last night? They are over there where you left them," Sherlock noted as he pulled on his clothes, "Breakfast is pointless anyway, it slows down my thinking and without it I then can remain focused."

Reminded of the clothes from the day before, John blushed and started pulling them on. It was way more complicated than what he was used to, yet he managed to get it on and straighten himself up before Sherlock had even dragged himself out of bed. He knelt in front of the other boy and looked up at him.

"Please just come down. You don't have to eat too much, just humor them."

"If you are asking then I shall, it would surprise Mycroft… that would be amusing," Sherlock smirked and literally rolled out of bed, landing on his hands and knees gracefully, "Good choice in outfit too I must say." With a belt he tightened his trousers and pressed his waist coat flat with all the buttons in place. Minutes later after guiding John through the maze of hallways and further detailing him where what led to what, they were in the dining room with a long table set up, food set out of all types.

"And so the good Princess arrives," Mycroft said with a sneer, sipping at his coffee, "with his new one."

"He has a name My, just like your Gregory," Sherlock tilted his head to the other boy who was standing not too far from his older brother, the other perking up at the sound of his name. The unfamiliarity of who he should he pay attention more to and new to the ordeal of serving breakfast forced John to conclude that he should start small. First he poured Sherlock his morning cup of tea, and backed up to just behind where Sherlock was standing and gave Greg a small smile, especially since he was copying him. It would probably be wise to make friends with the rest of the staff… Greg grinned back, then the pair of them went back to watching their masters attentively. Sherlock wasn't eating much, but it wasn't John's job to make him eat, just to give him whatever he asked for and keep his drink full.

Forcefully Sherlock nibbled some toast with jam and stared at Mycroft who had turned his attention to the newspaper, trying to ignore him. Eventually Sherlock poked at the eggs for a little while, eyes darting between Gregory and his brother until Mycroft became very irritated and picked up his head.

"What!?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring at me."

"I am not staring I am deducing."

"And what have you discovered, detective," Mycroft snarled back.

"You need to create a better skin blend mixture."

"... come again..."

"The skin cream you slathered on both your neck and his," once more tipping his head to the other manservant, "It was mostly well done but if you look closely enough the color does not match the proper skin tone."

"And why would this silly delusion of yours be interesting again?"

"Because it does not hide the bruises of the bite marks that you two exchanged while in your private chambers," Sherlock replied matter of fact with a smirk, to which Mycroft pounded his fists on the table as he stood.

"Good day, brother," Mycroft storming off, Gregory not far behind.

"Make sure you do not run into Father, he is bound to notice!" watching the doors slam shut, leaving the two alone in the room.

John couldn't help but giggle, but within seconds he managed to contain himself again. From appearances the Holmes brothers had the typical sibling relationship of one irritating the other and pushing each other's buttons. Not too long his attention shifted, longingly, to Sherlock's breakfast. Nobody had given him anything to eat since the day before, and he was starving. His stomach grumbled, and he glared at it as if it had purposely offended him.

"Sorry, Master Sherlock," he murmured, ducking his head.

"I am glad that worked, I was teasing him not only for my amusement but also so he would leave us alone, come sit. I need you to be at full strength and at your best, which means food for you, though none for me. Sit," Sherlock pointed to a chair to his right.

"Eat."

"No, I can't, I'm not allowed. I have my own breakfast in the kitchens to eat later," John was afraid that someone would discover them and he really didn't want to find out what that would mean.

"Now. Do not trouble yourself about them; if you are with me then it is under my orders. If they still persist to give us trouble I will make sure that I see to it. Or I could threaten them with father… that will surely quiet their tongue," Sherlock trailed off and unnoticed by John gave into a shudder.

"Okay." John sat and took a slice of toast to nibble on, but he was still a little bit worried. At least there was bread and tea to fill his stomach and he probably wasn't going to get beaten for it. Sherlock glared, and he took a small spoonful of fruit salad.

"What are we doing today?"

"I expect the usual, if today is Friday as I imagine it is, Teacher should be coming around shortly for some lessons, then piano practice, a break for lunch, followed up with lessons of manners and ballroom dance, and then perhaps the scheduled bath. Finally top it all with dinner. I think that covers it all," Sherlock fired off quickly, "Do not forget meat. Protein."

The servant took a breakfast sausage and took a bite. Sherlock's family seemed to have pretty good quality food, made sense seeing how filthy rich they were so far, should not be too surprising. He finished off his breakfast and pushed his plate away, poured Sherlock a new cup of tea and stood back in his assigned place. He'd tidy Sherlock's room while the other boy was in his lessons, and he'd find time to finish the rest of his duties later.

"Master Sherlock! Master Sherlock!" Alex rushed in and huffed, "Teacher will be here soon, you woke up late again!" glaring at John for a moment.

"Rest easy Alex, I told John not to disturb me, I was feeling unwell, which is why he was by my side last night, unless anything happened to me," was said without skipping a beat.

"...Fine, but be ready in the study in ten minutes, I will not be yelled by your Father again. And- you ate?" Alex stepping to the table, noticing the crumbs and used utensils, "But why is it over here?"

"Dealing with my small ill last night, I summarized I eat this morning and was going to help myself to a second serving until you interrupted me," Sherlock growled and stood up, "Obviously I had John push my plate aside so I might have more."

"Apologies Master Sherlock, but please hurry."

The lower servant watched Alex from his place in the corner, then saw the man fussing over Sherlock and grinned, happy to know Sherlock was covering him again. Seconds after Alex left, John cleared the plates away and brought them to the kitchens. Sherlock could find his own way to his lesson. John had work to do, after all, and those jobs didn't include walking Sherlock around the house all the time.

Dull. The whole of Britain's history was dull. To practice his own acting skills, he would occasionally nod and pretend to be interested, always fooling Teacher. When asked a question Sherlock always knew exactly what to say, explaining in long sentences that never really answered the question but satisfied his stupid professor nonetheless. Next was reading and writing; a lesser bore because he was to read and write which allowed him to practice pose and reports. The intention made by his father was for young Sherlock to learn how to read business propositions and all things official for the future, but for him it was a skill to use to documenting his findings. At this he realized what his findings were to John now that he was part of the plan.

The morning saw John washing dishes for an hour, then being sent upstairs to take care of Sherlock's room. He made the bed and put the laundry away and tried to straighten the shelves, but he didn't really know what to do with it beyond that, so he stood next to the door and let Alex inspect it. He was told off for not dusting the bookshelves (they hadn't looked dusty!), but otherwise seemed to have passed and was sent downstairs to help prepare lunch for the family.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! I screwed up making the chapters so this chapter is I suppose half new? You might have to jump back and re-read, I dunno but I am so sorry! I blame my sickness, bleh, though at least being sick gives you enough time to write/edit/ post right?

Piano. It was not terrible because there were more boring instruments to learn. Sherlock preferred the violin although he had already learned so much that there was no need for lessons anymore, just is own practice. The musician rapped on and on to fix his sitting position, thwacking him with a rod to keep his back straight and keep the elbows tucked in properly. When happy with the outcome, he was excused and made his way to the parlor, picking up his violin along the way.

"John? ... John?!"

Hearing his name from the next room, John hurried out of the kitchen. "You called, Master Sherlock?" he said softly, looking up at the other boy. He'd been halfway through making a giant plate of sandwiches, but his duty to Sherlock came first.

"Food. Hungry... at least a little. Ah you were already making them, good show," nodding to a few stains on John's apron, "Do not forget tea. Do not disappoint."

"Of course," John scurried back to the kitchen and grabbed two sandwiches and a pot of tea before returning to the parlor, "Will this do sir, or should I get something else?"

"I think it is fine enough," Sherlock took the plate from him and began at the cold sandwich. He expected nothing much of John's cooking, a mere slave man servant with only basic manners and social skill. This was all before he took a bite.

"John... you made this?" asking in disbelief and furrowed his eyebrows.

"Erm, yes, is it all right?" John asked hesitantly because he knew his skill was nowhere near the fine chefs the Holmes's were probably used to. In the back of his mind he thanked his mother for instructing him how to cook, his sister Harriet was terrible and his father too tired from the farm or drunk to help manage supper.

"If you don't like it, I can bring something else out. I know there's something made of fish just coming out of the oven..."

"John!" Sherlock holding his sandwich in the air, grappling onto John's wrist, and then ran to the kitchens.

"Chef!"

The stout man with a bristle moustache turned around at the distracting noise, and when all in the room realized who it was froze and made a quick bow. All of the exchanged nervous glances to each other; rarely did a Holmes come down into the kitchens, if anything it was Master Holmes with a complaint if he wished to entertain himself by scaring some of the staff. Licking his lips and removing his hat with courtesy, the Head Chef glanced down, puzzled with the new servant's presence and finally turned to his Master.

"What is the matter Master Sherlock? Does our food displease you?"

"This is John," Sherlock gripped the manservant by the shoulders and shoving him forward as if showing off a kitten or puppy, "he is cooking everything for me for now on and no one else. He is to cook for me and me alone!"

"Master Sherlock, I think you're overreacting," John said slowly, looking around the kitchen. He wasn't even a particularly good cook, at least he did not feel the confidence to warrant this new rule. Despite what John knew there were so many contraptions, all kinds of pots, pans, and other instruments in such a lavish kitchen that he could even begin to guess how it all worked. It was ridiculous.

"Then I'll stop eating all together," Sherlock crossed his arms and looked away, "Not unless you do it. I need you to do it. I have stopped asking and I give this as an order."

"I'll do it," John agreed immediately, though he wished he knew what it was about his food that Sherlock found so special.

"Excellent," Sherlock devoured the rest of sandwich in front of him and returned to the parlor, leaving behind a very confused kitchen staff. The younger maid girls especially whispered and blushed.

"Thank you John, whatever they were feeding me was rubbish before, could have been poison... actually all the better. If all my meals are prepared by you then I can rest easy no one will try to assassinate me by tainting the food. No?"

John seriously doubted that Sherlock would fall victim to an assassination attempt, but he nodded his agreement anyway. It wouldn't be that much extra work for him to make all of Sherlock's meals, right? Probably not. Hopefully. Maybe he could talk Alex into getting rid of some of his other duties in exchange. In a final decision John figured he would ask later, while Sherlock took his dance lessons, especially because he did not have much to do then anyway.

"Since we are here, it is time to go over you list of chores and other duties. You shall begin work tomorrow, today was just a day of warm up and a chance for you to be further acquainted around the estate a little," Sherlock began to sip his tea, "And you better handle it too or else you will get a good deal of scolding from Alex."

"Of course, Master Sherlock," John said softly, still holding Sherlock's tray and feeling a bit bewildered by the whole experience. A small warmth of either pity or empathy was felt from Alex before he was pushed into Sherlock's room, but still, he did not desire to end up on Alex's bad side. Not as nerve twisting as Master Holmes, but Alex did appear that of an elderly grandfather ready snap those below him into shape.

"So there is the usual cleaning of my room, change the sheets every day, the dusting, sweeping. Now, you will be cooking all my meals and preparing my tea so there is that. Washing of the dishes with others and cleaning after the table. Then there is the cleaning and polishing of both my piano and violin. If you break Felix, if you dare break one of his strings..." Sherlock's eyes darkened momentarily and then sparkled as he added to his list, "There after you will need to go to the stables and take care of my horse, Arthur. Feed, clean him and his stable. Polish my fencing swords and make sure they do not rust. Keep the fires going in the fire place, so I guess that means making sure there is a constant supply of wood. I believe the chopper and wood supply is in the back somewhere. Finally, do everything else I say. Mhm, that's minimal but it will have to do."

Well. That was certainly enough things to keep busy. "Yes, Master Sherlock," John answered with a twinge of defeat, the weight of responsibility already hanging over his head. Mentally he began calculating how long each of those jobs would take. With the grave-robbing, and no, he wasn't over that yet, when was supposed to be sleeping? It did not appear any of it was up for debate, though, so he decided he'd just have to figure it out somehow. He wasn't sure how Sherlock considered it to be 'minimal,' but it probably would not kill him. Or, at least, not quickly.

"Now then," Sherlock drained the last of his tea and munched on the second sandwich, "this is rather good but I think it could use improvement, no matter. I shall see you in a little while. You are dismissed."

Sherlock looked to John out of the corner of his eye before leaving and then walked down the hallways, purposely delaying his arrival to the ballroom where he met Mrs. Hudson, the one who explained the etiquette and ways of the Sophistication. This was the time of day he did look forward to. Out of the numerous idiots he encountered in his life Mrs. Hudson was different; sometimes she would fuss over him for not eating properly and would lightly scold him for being smart. When Sherlock showed off her reaction was resistant because she would not allow a student to distract her from her work, it was a nice challenge for someone to resist him. Unlike others Mrs. Hudson was not intimidated by him, generally sweet, yet she had the power not to endure his sarcasm.

"Father bestowed on to me another boy," Sherlock announced some time later as he practiced his waltz with a rolling dummy.

"Has he now? Must be exciting for you Sherlock and what is the poor lad's name?" Mrs. Hudson peered up from the piano.

"John. I believe Watson was his surname, though that is no matter now. I heard Father was able to buy him cheap as well," Sherlock continued to turn gracefully with his imaginary partner.

"Oh, but please be kind to him Master Sherlock, just a boy… he might miss his family," Mrs. Hudson's face fell without Sherlock noticing because she felt pity for him to have been purchased by such an employer as Master Holmes. If the money was not so sorely needed she would not have worked for such a scary man either, but there was her student Sherlock. In the back of mind she established that he would have been near the same age as her own son, but decided never to bring up such a topic.

John didn't really have any afternoon chores that day, and as far as he could tell he didn't have to start on the long list until the next day, so he slipped unobtrusively into the back of the ballroom to wait for a break when he could ask Sherlock what kind of food he might want for supper. John certainly had no idea, and he figured if he could get the chef to teach him one good meal, he'd have a good start on, well, the rest of his life.

"Oh, there he is now, pardon me," Sherlock politely bowed and walked to him, "You enjoying yourself there?"

"Sorry, Master Sherlock, I was just wondering what you wanted to eat for supper. Please do not let me interrupt your lesson."

"Actually you might help," he grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the middle of the floor. Holding John's hand and the other placed at his waist, Sherlock began to hum a tune, stepping sideways, "I need you to allow me to lead, otherwise I'll look foolish."

"I don't actually know how to dance, Master Sherlock," John said quietly, watching their feet carefully. He'd count it as a victory if he managed to keep from stepping on anything but the floor.

"Um Master Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson faintly asked from the piano.

"Jus continue on with the song Mrs. Hudson. For someone who does not know how to, you are doing fairly well. Just keep this arm up... yes like that. How do we look Mrs. Hudson, not a bad dancing partner?" Sherlock asked, looking to her mid spin. Mrs. Hudson nodded approvingly and John found himself being spun around. Already feeling mildly ridiculous from his Master's earlier outburst now he blushed once more as he was lead on. He really should be doing some of his chores, but this didn't seem to actually be optional. Sherlock was too busy having fun and being pleased with himself, John concluded begrudgingly.

"Well, looks like I am done for today's lesson. John, go prepare my dinner with whatever it is suppose to be with the other cooks. I shall go change into my dinner suit, though I will conduct in a nap for… for possibly tonight's future events. Good evening Mrs. Hudson and thank you for today's lesson," Sherlock approached her and picked up her hand, kissing the top.

"Once more as always Master Sherlock. For next time then," she smiled warmly, bowed at the door, and gave a small nod to John before heading out.

"Thank you for that. For a slave you might have potential," Sherlock commented with a laugh and made for his room.

"Thank you, Master Sherlock," John said meekly before retreating back to the kitchen. Even after that he was not even sure if that was an actual compliment, but he decided it was best to take it as one either way. In the kitchen, the cooks glared at him slightly, apparently some of them took Sherlock's preference for him personally, yet one of them showed him how to make the boy's supper and left him to it.

His Father's advisors had told him that the reason for Sherlock's lack of sleep was because he was not getting any within the day and that with all he had to do throughout the day, his body would remain awake all night. It was all hogwash and bad science but rather than deal with the man he called Father, Sherlock complied and would go to his room, remaining quiet for an hour. In this time he had the time to think and concentrate without being interrupted, which would have been possible at night, except that was the only time he could go off the estate to do as he pleased. For an hour to himself Sherlock delved deep in his mind to create the connections and build up on his knowledge, forming walls, towers.

When Sherlock's supper was finished cooking, John hurried up to his room and knocked on the door. "Excuse me, Master Sherlock, but your supper is ready," he smiled, then backed out of the room and headed downstairs to wait at Sherlock's place for the other boy to arrive.

Stretching out and cracking a few of his bones, Sherlock double checked to make sure he was presentable and moved downstairs. Entering the dining room he saw Mycroft waiting near his place with Gregory hovering nearby and then saw John. Making it through the next hour was always the more tiring and tougher parts of the day because of the company he had to sit with. It was also the rare time that Sherlock and Mycroft would remain civil with each other, putting aside their differences. In this hour everyday they had to.

Remaining expressionless Sherlock flicked his eyes to John and blinked before waiting behind his chair.

Waiting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asdfghjkl; I know that's un-professional but where are all these readers coming from?! Does no one else write/ RP slave prompts because people keep saying I am like the only one. Still thanks for the kudos and looks like I can squeeze a few more chapters out until I have to write on my own, around the time my partner left.

Eventually the old man Alex shuffled in and eyed the young men around the room, still keeping silent. Not too soon later were the doors opened and Master Holmes walked in and wordless took his place at the head of the table, the sons sitting down at the same time as he did.

"So the mock business deal was a success Mycroft?"

"Yes Father, the clients are happy and give their best regards to you," he answered obediently and slowly picked at his food.

"I can see you still have a bit of heft to your figure, too much time being kept useless as ever perhaps. I will have an instructor come over and analyze your health. I do not have to do this but it is necessary to keep up appearances and uphold the Holmes name," Master Holmes observed coldly.

"..."

"Mycroft?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes sir..."

At first John tuned out the conversation and stood attentively, eyeing Sherlock's water glass and wishing he'd thought to eat something before supper started. Then John began to realize the atmosphere that he might have to expect, the air stiff as all attention was kept to the movements and voice of Master Holmes. It was as if his refined, powerful energy that ebbed off him filled the room, commanding everyone else's behaviors in tune like an orchestra.

Taking this all in it did not help that John never had lunch and he was starving, smelling the wafting food. The duties of being a servant reminded him to pay attention just as he saw Sherlock finishing just more than half of his glass, and John leaned in to refill it. At that moment, however, Master Holmes began speaking to his younger son and Alex caught his eye. With a subtle tilt of the head, he ushered John out into the hall.

"You cannot pour drinks when someone's being addressed by the Master," he hissed.

"I'm sorry," John murmured, chewing nervously on his lip. "I didn't know."

"Just don't do it again," he glared sternly at John.

"I won't," John promised, ducking his head apologetically.

"Good. Go see to your master," he swept back into the dining room and John followed, less confidently. Sherlock and his father were still talking, or rather, his father was talking and Sherlock was sitting stiffly in his seat, glaring into the middle distance.

"And he was certain he saw whatever it was outside lurking about," Holmes turned his head to John and then slowly back to Sherlock, "Even this morning he was not himself, saying he was bitten or shot by something."

"It is more likely that he and whomever else you hired had too much to drink and were lost within their fantasies or hallucinations. I can assure you He had nothing to do with last night's incident," Sherlock replied calmly trying to acknowledge John's attendance.

"And is this true slave? Were you by Sherlock's side last night? With him in his room because he felt ill?" Master Holmes's eyes burned into John, "Well?"

"Yes, Master Holmes," John said softly, not lying but somehow feeling dishonest about it anyway. His stomach tied itself into knots and he studied the floor in front of him. At least he wasn't hungry any more.

"Fine..." his eye kept on John suspiciously and once more the eldest Holmes began to tend to his meal when he noticed Sherlock eating his, "And what is this? Now you decide to eat properly?" he raised an eyebrow and turned the fork on his plate.

"Yes, I will begin to eat now that He is taking care of the meals."

"What? Why is something like That in the kitchens?! Not even qualified to cook, according to his skill set. Do you just think you may walk around there and do as you please because you are part of the staff?" Master Holmes raised his voice and directed his inquiry back to John who dared not move.

"Father, I asked him to serve and cook my meals to me personally. I prefer his cooking above all," Sherlock answered and purposely swallowed a mouth full of chicken to prove a point.

In the back of his mind John smiled to himself, relieved his Master was attempting to keep him out of trouble. Not qualified to cook his arse. Unfortunately someone noticed his reaction.

"What are you laughing at, boy?" Master Holmes asked sharply, "Does something amuse you? Do I amuse you?"

"Nothing, Master Holmes," John said hurriedly, eyes wide. That was one way to ruin a moment, he supposed, "I'm just glad that Master Sherlock is taking better care of himself." Was that an acceptable excuse? It would just have to do, he supposed.

"Sherlock, you will meet me in my office after dinner," Master Holmes eyed him and even Mycroft stiffened, glancing to John with a small worried look.

"Yes sir," his youngest son answered and ate the rest of his plate without saying another word, Mycroft and his father talking about business and the company again. Thinking it over what they had told him was both plausible and truthful so what fault could be in it? Sherlock hoped this would keep him satisfied, though if he was being asked to go to the office…

Master Holmes excused himself later, not long after Mycroft as well began to leave and opened his mouth to say something.

"I'll be fine Mycroft," Sherlock answered and whispered to John, "See to whatever duties you have then meet me back in my room."

John cleared Sherlock's dishes when supper was over and washed them, then finished a few other chores before heading upstairs to wait in Sherlock's room. He paced from one corner to the other, listening for footsteps in the hallway.

Walking upstairs, Sherlock had to grip the railing to hold himself up and staggered slightly down the hallway when he almost lost his footing. Despite the pain he stiffened up and pushed through it then found John outside his room.

"Hello John, thank you about before, it was noble of you to help me like that, such an act deserves a reward. How about we go sneak some food for you, down from the kitchens," Sherlock grinned, "Need to be ready for tonight!"

"Master Sherlock, you're hurt!" John exclaimed, hurrying to help him inside it, "I ate some after you finished your supper. It's fine. What happened? And what do you mean I helped you?" He settled Sherlock onto his bed and stood back, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't done anything extraordinary, and if anything he'd only got Sherlock into trouble with his father.

"You did not reveal the on goings of last night, thank you for that and I am glad you helped yourself," he grimaced slightly and stretched out, rubbing his sore arms, "Come now, rest while you can and I shall wake you when it's midnight. I hate sleep really, I only do so to keep Father from becoming suspicious, then again he's suspicious of everything. Please rest."

"We can't go out again tonight, Master Sherlock," John protested, "You're hurt. What should I do to make you feel better?" He stretched out next to the other boy and looked seriously into his eyes. "Why would he do that to you? You're his son!"

"Yes, I am his son and it is why he can, I dishonored him, sneering at his authority. Not that I enjoy it but I would rather have the brunt of it than Mycroft, generally I am the trouble maker anyway," shrugging after rubbing his chest and stood slightly to pull John down, "Rest, I'll be need you later. Do not make me ask again."

"Of course, Master Sherlock." John lied down and shut his eyes, and he was exhausted enough that sleep came immediately. It was far too soon, however, when he felt himself shaken awake. Midnight already, then. He sat up groggily and looked around.

"Now then, time for the usual garb to wear," tossing John the clothes from their previous night out, "time to go properly meet our new female acquaintance." The make shift rope was already tied with some extra bed sheets he found in the closet and tied it around the bed.

"I'll check to make sure no one is walking by, see you down there," Sherlock disappeared and slid down. It looked like none of the guards were on this side of the estate and he waited patiently down below. John pulled on his ratty clothes and scampered down the rope.

"Are we going back for the body?" the servant whispered, straightening his shirt and looking around the grounds for any passing guards. He wanted few things less than he wanted to do that, but he was fairly certain that was where they were headed.

"Indeed, let us move swiftly," the master began to run ahead, ducking through the gardens and made it to the tree line. Following the remembered path, the two found their way to the small, hidden shed. The smell was much more powerful now, the corpse giving off its unpleasant air and Sherlock quickly threw open all windows and door. He found the small box of herbs he kept and took a small plant, inhaling a long waft.

"Quick, before you get sick!"

John took a long sniff and it was, indeed, much better. "Thank you, Master Sherlock," he wheezed, slightly curious what Sherlock had been keeping in the little box, but was fairly certain that asking would be frowned upon. "What are we doing with the body?"

"Well... first she has to be cleaned up," Sherlock handed John a box of matches, "Light the lanterns, some candles might be under the table over there. I'll have to fetch some water from the well and clean her." He grabbed a bucket beginning to fill a small metal tub that was in there, back and forth, slowly filling it.

"When you are done, you are going to have to slip the bag off her too. The concern that dwells on my mind is how long the preservative chemicals the funeral home will last on her."

Groping through the dark John lit the candles and retched a little at the sight of the corpse lying on the floor of the shed. For a moment he had to turn away and smell the herbs again, but before long he grabbed the water and started wiping off the woman, breathing shallowly through his mouth to keep from gagging. When she was at least partway clean, John pulled the bag away and tossed it in the corner before wiping her off completely.

"I did one last walk around, no one should be able to see our lights, even from this distance," Sherlock explained as he pulled a table inside, the wood slightly rotted, "Which end would you rather pick up, head or feet?"

Bewildered at the question John looked up and down the corpse. "Feet." He said finally, positioning himself to take them. They lifted the body onto the table and he stepped aside, making sure to stay out of Sherlock's way.

"Right... note's keeper, that's your task. Quill and paper over there, and keep up, I need every detail recorded," Sherlock began to pace around the body, eyes roaming over it, "Female, possibly in her twenties due to her youth. Cause of death, unknown for the time being, oh and do not forget the date! Eyes... brown, hair auburn. White, all limbs and digits intact, no immediate signs of trauma…"

As fast as he could John scribbled everything down as Sherlock made observations, trying to keep track of where he'd need to leave space for later. By the end of the little session, he'd written everything on the page with only a few messy corrections.

"Now... comes a bit of the difficult part, gloves for both of us," handing John a pair before picking up a knife, one that could have been from the kitchens, "John I-... you are going to have to try and stay me with this, if not then I shall have to find someone else and if I asked for a replacement I do not know what will happen to you. I welcome you to stay. I actually encourage it, the first one to finally get something right and not be a complete idiot."

"What are you doing?" John asked, frowning nervously at the cutlery, "Are we cutting the body?" He'd thought it was at the worst it was going to get. He needed to stop thinking that, because it was clearly never true.

"Not merely cutting, we are dissecting. John... we'll be testing and pushing the boundaries of science that other wrinkled old men to not have the stomach to venture. But I do. I need to know the anatomy of human. How are we to learn and be clever if we do not try, if we do not attempt. I reasonably understand if you do not want to press forward, though like I said, if I relinquish my power over you to my father... I do not know what will happen, I never heard what happened to the other three before you, not to mention I never came this far," Sherlock flickered his eyes from John to the body, willing himself not to order the slave to stay, "Please, I-... if you can."

"I'll try," John agreed, really not wanting to risk facing a man who would beat his own son for daring to have his slave cook for him. "But I... you'll have to tell me what to do." He'd never done anything like this, obviously, and there was no way he'd be able to do it right without a lot of direction.

"To be honest, I am still learning myself, I guess then I have another assignment for you. Whenever possible, go to the library and brush up on any of the medical books there, we have many, and I believe they are on the second floor on the eastern wall. I find them crude and not up to date except it's our only start so far. Yes... not to bad, I shall keep you," Sherlock smiled, finding himself repeat the phrase a second time, "Thank you, you are a good… person."

Person? No longer a Thing or an It? At this thinking John gulped and could not help, but smile, finally happy to have someone acknowledge him as someone other than a dog. Still, on account of what was happening now, John did not think he would have much free time, and did not really want to spend it studying medical texts so that his master would improve on his dissecting skills. Without seeing another way out of this situation, believing it impossible to convince his master, he nodded his agreement anyway and stood over the body, waiting for Sherlock to make an incision.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers, sorry for delay, such is college life. So hopefully this will keep you at bay for now, so erm, yes! 2/14/13

"Well that was not too bad, certainly gained more information about her," Sherlock draped the sheet over her, peeling off his bloodied gloves and washed his hands, "This is even easier than I thought..."

The woman appeared to have all of her organs, all intact too. Checking the ribs, they had been cracked and then healed over, maybe a fall from many years ago as a child. Despite his eagerness and interest in the idea, Sherlock would glance up every now and then to be sure John still had his senses and was not passing out.

By the time they finished, John felt slightly sick and had to lean against the wall to keep his legs from collapsing under him. "Are we done now, Master Sherlock?" he asked softly, trying to keep his stomach under control. He prayed the answer would be yes, and that maybe he'd even be able to get inside without having to drag himself up the makeshift rope.

"Mhm, save the rest for another night, best we return and recover for the beginning of tomorrow. Hopefully the rot will stave off for another night or so…"

They ventured back together, luckily not needing to sneak past any guards again, and there were a few times John had swayed so Sherlock supported him most of the way, holding him close. When they arrived under the window, Sherlock could tell John's nerves were done, his strength left him.

"See here, this is what we will do. Climb onto my back and hold onto my neck, I'll carry you up. Use your legs too to hold on," Sherlock crouched down, but John shook his head and started pulling himself up the rope on shaky arms. There was no way Sherlock would be able to actually carry him. The climb was difficult, though he managed to pull himself through the window and collapse onto the floor. Sherlock quickly followed and once John had pulled the sheets inside, he curled up on top of them and fell asleep. The master sighed and stroked John's hair.

"You've done enough for one night," Sherlock whispered and carefully scooped John up, placing him in his bed. Carefully he untangled John from his stench ridden clothes and traded them for his uniform. Finally switching out of his own Sherlock decided to move to the fireplace, sitting on a cushion as he watched the embers begin to die out. Tomorrow or really today, was the garden party he was going to be dragged to and he pouted, such things were never fun. Mycroft would certainly try to keep him in line and stop him from attempted escape. Shrugging, he cracked open a book, going over the crude theories of human anatomy and curled up in the arm chair, eventually falling asleep.

"Johhhnnn... John!" a voice rasped, the door cracked open slightly, "Dear Lord, wake up boy and get out of that bed immediately!"

The voice made Sherlock groan a little and turn over in his comfortable spot. John's eyes snapped open and he sat up. "Sorry, sir," he murmured. It was barely sunrise, but he was sure there were important things to be done. He'd heard something about a party, which could only mean extra chores. Realizing what he was wearing, he hurried to change into his uniform then found it had been done for him. Ready to thank Sherlock he stopped himself when he found him asleep, so ran out into the hallway.

"I'm sorry," John repeated, not bothering to try and explain what had happened. It wasn't like anyone was going to believe him anyway.

"I am not going to ask because I do not want to know, and hurry up into the kitchens with ya! They already started at the breakfast and I know Master Sherlock demands you be his personal chef," Alex grumpily mumbled and gave John a light kick, "And don't forget to help prep the carriage!"

"Sherlock... Sherlock..." Mycroft rolled his eyes and then resorted to push his brother off the chair and the younger one scrambled up in sudden panic.

"Wuzz a who?!"

"Get up now. We'll be departing in an hour soon and if Father is late because of you he will be furious and take it out on me. Or even Gregory!"

"Oh you and your precious Gregory, I have arisen Brother alright," Sherlock finally woke up and brushed himself off, "Where's J- my servant?"

"Oh the new one, probably doing his duties as he was told and now I am wondering, are you two becoming steady and domestic? Gregory said John has yet to sleep with the other servants, most of them whisper that he's been in here the last few nights," Mycroft asked smugly.

"I was not feeling well, My, and thought it best he stay close to tend to whatever needs were necessary," Sherlock answered and huffed, storming to put some proper clothes on. "I am sure of that, whatever needs."

"Oh like you are one to talk!"

John hurried down to the kitchens and prepared some food for Sherlock, then hurried outside and set to getting the horses set up. He had no idea what he was doing, but it seemed simple enough and he couldn't find anyone who wasn't busy to teach him. Sweaty and dirty and bruised from being pushed into the stable wall by a disobedient horse, John made his way back up to the house, grumbling to himself.

Without warning, he found his arms trapped behind his back as he was pressed up against a fence. "Say a word and you're dead," someone snarled into his ear. He nodded obediently and felt a hand at the front of his trousers. "I hear you're putting out for your master, but the rest of us don't have our own boy. It's only fair that we share you."

It was impossible to tell who the person behind him was, but struggling wasn't getting him anywhere, unfortunately, and he was beginning to fear for his wellbeing.

"Masters! You better hurry, your father is already making his way to the carriages!" Alex wheezed during the middle of their breakfast, Sherlock frowning into his eggs at the news and reluctantly stood.

"Well whatever I consumed now hopefully might hold me up for the day..."

"Please Sherlock, do not be a prat at this party and refuse their food!" Mycroft sighed and slipped on his coat, "We have to be our best for Father's sake, I know what happened last night between you two, do not think I did not notice. You may have covered the visible injuries, but I see your body is moving differently today."

Sherlock ignored him and tried to look bored as they entered the first carriage, their servants' carriage right behind them. Master Holmes was already inside reading a novel, not even looking up when his sons climbed in, though in his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Sherlock flicker his eyes to him before glancing outside instead.

"Where is that boy! If he doesn't get here soon he'll be left behind!" Alex stomped his feet as he addressed Gregory who shrugged and scratched his neck. John stumbled into the carriage seconds before it left, positioning himself at Sherlock's feet as expected, and trying not to show what had happened behind the stables.

"So sorry I'm late, sir, Master Sherlock," he mumbled, looking down at his knees, swaying as the horse began to draw from the estate.

"..." Master Holmes sighed and snapped his book shut, Sherlock jumping and Mycroft's eyes widened. His hand gripped John's shirt and opened the door, his face remaining perfectly emotionless the entire time. Sherlock was about to stand and protest, yet Mycroft pulled his brother down, subtly shaking his head.

"In the wrong carriage boy, get out," Master Holmes hissed and with one smirk, he tossed John out and Alex, to John's luck, had been looking out the window to see the body tumble into the dust.

"Coachman, slow down, now! John! Hurry up! Take my hand!" Alex yelled with his arm outstretched and the carriage reducing speed. Dizzy and stumbling John hurried after and swung inside the carriage once Alex helped pull him in.

"I don't understand!" John panted. "I just... that's what I was told before," he sat down, dropping his head into his hands and panting. Frustrated he kept think how he'd only been there for a couple of days and nobody explained anything properly. All he wanted was to do well, and Sherlock had said to always stay with him, so how was he to know where to go?

"Why doesn't anyone tell me?"

"The plans suddenly changed this morning. Master Holmes suddenly insisted that the servants ride in a separate carriage, maybe we will enter the host estate from the back, so that the Holmes family would present themselves alone without...well without people like us..." Alex leaned back into the cushion and wiped his forehead, "I'll see to it that maybe the head of the stables, kitchen, and overall anyone else talk more to you about the daily chores and scheduling. It seemed too difficult to find the time to explain to you, with Master Sherlock dragging you along the whole while."

"Anyway, be on your best behavior and normally I would say listen to your master, though knowing Master Sherlock he might be mischievous and wish to muddle with the party. Do not do so. Try to persuade him otherwise to stave from anything… disruptive… If anything, Master Holmes' power will always overlap his sons', is that understood?"

"Of course," John agreed, looking out the window, "I'm sorry I keep messing things up." John didn't think it would be hard to avoid causing trouble at the party. He tried to avoid that generally, and as long as he had the standing order to keep his head down and Sherlock's mischief out of the way, he would be all right. Alex sighed and gave a sideways glance to Gregory who smiled with a shrug.

"It's... you are not doing a bad job John, your arrival was fairly sudden and we were unprepared for you but... just use your head as you have been doing and I think you will be ok."

John nodded, but couldn't bring himself to meet Alex's eyes. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled, still feeling betrayed by Sherlock's orders and Alex's silence and the one who cornered him.

The ride was nearly an hour and a half with Sherlock completely restless and had to keep himself restrained because becoming twitchy would just agitate his father. On their arrival, the Holmes carriage pulled up along with some others, bearing the crest of the households. The servants rounded around to the back where a few of the servants of the original household asked them for additional help with food preparation and set, though it did not take long. Mycroft and Sherlock were introduced to the other families by their father and when Sherlock had the opportunity, he slipped away to try and find John.

"There you are!" he jogged to his servant when he found him on the edge of the crowd, standing alone awkwardly, "Hooray, hooray distraction..."

When they arrived, John prepared some food especially for Sherlock (apparently the family had called ahead) and helped set up some of the decorations. At the moment, he was, direct quote, for the use of the other guests. Even so, Sherlock came stalking over relatively soon. John frowned at him.

"Master Sherlock, you can't stand here and talk to me. Please, I was told that I couldn't let you disrupt the party, you need to join the others," John went pale and took several steps backwards, "I'm sorry, Master Sherlock, really, I am."

"Please, I am a... bit more mature than that," Sherlock smirked and then grabbed John's hand dragging him along as he resisted, "Let us venture forth, the gardens are most appealing right now then those old men and their money. Frivolous." Beyond the party was a wall of tall hedges and a welcoming entrance that laid out a grassy path around twists and turns to reveal a patch of rose bushes with a small fountain accompanied by few tables and chairs loitered about it. Every once in a while a rabbit would pop out and scurry away from the human presence with the birds twittering away.

"If anything happens I am responsible for you anyway, I would rather take the responsibility regardless."

"If anything happens?" John asked, frowning and looking around. He was fairly certain that he would have been able to keep himself out of trouble. "What does that mean?" Glancing around the garden, unable to keep from smiling at it. As awkward as he was feeling, he could not deny that it was beautiful. Maybe there was something to this money business.

"I mean... if supposedly my father tried something, I would try to ward him off best I can, not too bad of a servant," Sherlock grinned for a moment before his face fell in concern, "though really, what is it that is troubling you? Something else happen today? I notice you keep checking behind you as if someone will come up suddenly."

John frowned again. "It's nothing," he said softly, looking away, "I shouldn't trouble you with it." Sighing heavily, he bit his lip, "I was outside the stables and someone came up behind me and... it wasn't a big deal. I'm fine. Sorry I've been distracted since then," John dropped his gaze to the ground and scuffed his toes against the dirt.

"What do you mean?! Are you hurt?! What did they say?" Sherlock suddenly held his wrist and began to look him over, pacing around checking everywhere, "Please... I want you to feel safe, at least with me because... it's stupid really." He stepped away and chose to study the petals of an almost blooming flower, "Friend... maybe... still a servant first guess..."

"No, I'm fine," John insisted. "He didn't do much, just said if I was servicing you, I should have the decency to share myself. But, like I said, he didn't really do anything." John took a small step away, "Will I have to? Serve you like that, I mean."

"Obviously. You will be at my beckoning call," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I restrained myself from doing so since I already enveloped you with my research, but what is this nonsense of sharing... must be thick. What sharing, plah!"

"Okay. Stupid question. Sorry," John looked away, pressing his lips into a thin line. He had to admit that the idea of being sexually available whenever Sherlock wanted was worrying, "I don't know how to make it clear that nobody else can have me, though, so maybe you could say something, Master Sherlock?"

"I will need you, though if you happen to be around the others might need you like my Father or Mycroft, maybe even Alex or Gregory, servant women might need you- John are you ok, you have gone very pale," Sherlock held his shoulders and escorted him to a chair.

"I just... I wasn't expecting something like this," John admitted. When he'd been told that he was being sold as someone's personal slave, he had thought it was better than being sent to a brothel. Apparently, he could expect to be passed around whenever someone fancied it and John was not thrilled by that revelation, though he was not about to admit it to his master.

"Something like what? I mean if the other servants need your help, I suppose in accomplishing servant tasks or chores or whatever assistance is needed, of course they are going to call you," Sherlock leaned on the back of heel with his hands in his pockets as he rocked. John could have hit him if he weren't so relieved.

"That's not what I thought you meant at all. You've misunderstood me. I meant, erm… sexually," the servant scowled and then began blush at such an idea as laying with his master. Already in the past few days John had seen more of Sherlock than he expected and had not had the time to think of them together.

"..." Sherlock fell onto the ground and picked at the blades of grass, feeling utterly foolish, "But I would be careful of my brother, something is definitely going on between him in Gregory, haha..." It was true, some servants were used like in other households, his own brother as possible evidence and maybe one or two maids with his father though he had yet to prove it. Sherlock feeling suddenly tired rested his head against John's knee, folding his arms on top of John's legs.

"Sorry..."

"It's okay," John murmured, running his fingers absently through Sherlock's hair, "I just... I suppose you can see why I got nervous," he laughed softly, "So I won't have to do that for everyone I come across?"

"No. You are my slave and I do have the privilege to do what I want with you and I have you ordered to do nearly anything. Sexually, I really do not know what that feels like, the 'urges' or anything like that, completely foreign to me. I know the meaning and purpose of sex, procreating to expand life and all that, but otherwise I do not understand it," Sherlock announced casually and then sighed with his eyes closed, "Please do not stop doing that, it is fairly relaxing..."

John continued his stroking, looking around periodically for unwanted visitors. "Sex is supposed to feel nice," he whispered, "Surely you've at least tried bringing yourself off? Or, you know, something like that," John began to feel warm and silly. In the middle of a very important garden party John, the servant slave was sitting, sitting down with his own Master on his knees resting in his lap. The whole situation was bizarre, so upside down and backwards. If anything John should be back on his knees and submitting to Master Sherlock because he was the slave, the It, the pet, or whatever else he was.

"Forgive me, Master Sherlock, that was inappropriately forward."

"You are right, that was inappropriate," a voice from behind a hedge drifted over and another young gentleman stepped out with black hair and dark eyes, "Hi. Enjoying the party I hope."


	8. Chapter 8

Their sudden intrusion made Sherlock stiffen and jump up, looking over to find the other one with... a companion, almost half hidden from where they came from, possibly blonde hair? Either way Sherlock felt unsettled about the way he was looking at him and John, feeling as they should leave quickly.

"No not really, rather bored actually. In fact we were just thinking of going to go drink some tea."

"Do not you not refer to yourself? Commoner slaves have no place to drink with their masters, they must know where their place is, right Sebastian... come now do say hello, don't be shy," the young man smiled with his dark eyes glinting.

Sebastian walked out from behind where Jim was standing, head bowed. "Yes, Master?" he asked, keeping a polite distance from the little group of them. Slowly he knelt on the ground and, without thinking, John did the same. There was the small concern of being singled out again, even by someone they barely knew. Though he had plenty of ways Sherlock could correct his last sentence to be more socially acceptable, he was too nervous to tell him any of them.

"Good boy," the one with dark eyes began to pat and scratch at Sebastian's head, smiling, "I would hate to see you leave so soon, I thought you might love my garden."

"So this is your residence, I was right. James Moriarty, my father means to possibly work with yours and open an extensive deal. The party was a good choice, shake a couple hands, meet some new faces," Sherlock said seriously.

"Hmm, yes, very clever of him, but you are side stepping the topic we were just on. As I said before, slaves have their duties to uphold and their position within the household. My clever Sebastian is very fine, so obedient, whatever it is I say," James tilted his head while his index finger scratched up Sebastian's neck and to his chin, "Am I wrong Sebastian?"

"No, Master," Sebastian answered, leaning into James's touch. John looked at the pair of them in absolute horror. Was that how he was expected to act? Taking just a moment to compose himself, he leaned against Sherlock's leg gently, trying to give off an aura of subservient affection to equal Sebastian's.

The feel of the body on Sherlock's leg did feel comfortable, maybe knowing that he was there, but with a twinkle in James' eye Sherlock stepped forward.

"John, do not be a fool, please stand up. More clever than that," he ordered quietly and hung his hand down for him to grab.

"Oooo look at that Sebby, bit scandalous. Trying to make him your equal? Hm, rather odd, seeing he was most likely born to a whoring bitch and in poor, silly desperation for money, sold him away. Tragic," James smirked and his finger trailed up to Sebastian's mouth, slightly parting his lips. Sebastian sucked eagerly on the finger and John frowned. This was the kind of thing he'd have to keep up with here. He shook his head and pushed Sherlock's hand away. James had a point, and John wasn't going to embarrass everyone present by pretending he didn't. With slight hesitation he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock's other hand, nuzzling it gently, trying to keep up with the man across from him.

"Stop it," Sherlock pulled his hand away and grit his teeth, "Let's go find my brother," he began to walk away.

"Do not lie to me and tell me you do not like it. You know what it is you want, They are your property Sherlock. Do what you like with them, anything. I doubt your Daddy would be pleased either, he properly understands how to run a household, puts people in place. Just like he kept Mummy in place and you as well," James called after him and Sherlock froze stiff, knees almost shuddering.

John remained in his place on the ground, glancing between the pair of them. He should have come to Sherlock's defense, but he was too much of a coward, and he just wanted to make it home without serious injury. After the party, John surmised, he could tell Sherlock that James was wrong later. Now was not the time. He alternately could have followed Sherlock down the path, but he did not want to seem like he was retreating. So he stayed where he was.

"I-..." Sherlock turned around and narrowed his eyes, "Keep quiet... best if stop talking-"

"What? Mummy? Or is it Daddy issues? It's ok to vent, I vent at Sebastian all the time, he doesn't mind it, rather enjoys it," grinning down and pulled his finger out of Sebastian's mouth to lightly bite down.

"Really, I would appreciate it if... if you kindly shut up," Sherlock took a few more steps forward, closing in on James as his voice shook.

"Tsk, tsk. Poor manners and such a scary Holmes dear me. If you want a fight I would gladly accept, I just hope yours is ready for my Sebastian. he was trained special."

Biting his lip, John shook his head just a fraction. He didn't want to fight the man across from him, not before when he was just better fed and stronger looking, and especially not now that John knew he was specially trained for that sort of thing. Sebastian had other reasons for not really wanting to fight, namely that John was awfully scrawny and the last thing he wanted to do was hand some kids arse to him whose only mistake was belonging to someone his master didn't like. That didn't seem very sporting.

"No."

"You certainly look like you want a fight," James smiled politely and leaned back on his heels.

"Not at the cost of him," Sherlock eyes darted to behind him as James stepped forward, rather close than would be necessary, placing a hand on his shoulder. The urge to knock off this spider was intensifying and he was about to say something before James pulled him down and whispered something in his ear. Snapping back, Sherlock's hand gripped at James shirt as he lifted him off the ground, the other continued to grin the entire time. John caught Sebastian's eye and frowned nervously. Sebastian shrugged at him. There was no explaining the pair fighting just beside them. Best just to wait things out.

"Do it and he'll pay for the consquences..." James dared him, no longer smiling and his face turn grave.

Sighing, Sherlock lowered the smaller one to the ground and began to walk away with his head high and suddenly calm face. Blindly he started to walk across the grounds, forgetting he was not alone and did not stop until he felt he was far enough away, being near that boy was like poison. The body felt drained and usually Sherlock was never tired, his mind was always thinking of something, on some topic. Now there was nothing to focus on, nothing to distract him.

Unsure whether to follow John glanced between the pair of them then scrambled to his feet once James gave him a nod, permission to leave, and follow Sherlock through the garden. When the other boy came to a stop, so did he.

"Are you all right?" he asked, setting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, concerned.

"I never want you to act like that John... not ever, not with me do you understand!" Sherlock whirled around a bit hysterical and gripped the sides of shoulders, shaking him, "You are not a mindless- mindless Thing. Yes you are my property and I do own you but... You are the first one to- to deal with me I suppose, someone that does not internally tell me to sod off!" Holding John, he continued to tremble a bit and panted, feeling drained from his encounter with the Spider. James. If he ever was to meet him again, Sherlock felt he might become ill.

John nodded hurriedly, eyes wide, wondering what on earth had got into Sherlock to make him act like that.

"Whatever you like, Master Sherlock," John murmured, trying to disentangle himself from the other boy's arms, "Please, we've got to go back to the party." His insistence was partly about doing the job he'd been assigned and partly about not wanting to deal with Sherlock's panic attack alone in the garden. "Everything is going to be fine, Master Sherlock. Please, come back to the house."

"Yes... yes I suppose I should..." Sherlock slowly nodded and slowly began to tread back past the flower plots and decorative hedges, seeping back into the crowd. Sipping tea in the corner and nibbling on a biscuit perked him up a bit and slowly he integrated back with everyone else, occasionally showing off his new manservant proudly to the guests, most smiling because good menservants were hard to come by these days.

When it was time for the luncheon, guests sat at the round tables that were scattered, about four or five to a table and when Sherlock's meal was brought out, he smiled at John and ate willingly. Here and there James would spot him and they would make eye contact a mere second, and defiantly Sherlock kept his face relaxed, show him up. At some point the ladies of the party began a small tournament of croquet with a crowd beginning to grow around them, and Sherlock watched with some amusement, time going by, James' effect ebbed away with boredom slowly setting in.

"Maybe if I found a reptile of some kind... snake or toad..." he said to himself.

"I'd advise against it, Master Sherlock," John said from behind him, "You'd cause a panic, and your father would whip the both of us." He took a step back to where he had been standing before he overheard his master's mutterings and hoped that he had served as enough of a deterrent. There was no desire to be held responsible for Sherlock's incredibly childish urges.

"But what if it was planted it in such a way the suspicion would not be on us?" Sherlock began to whine, "I'm tired of this, I would rather be studying...Her... maybe if we have time tonight we could. Or we might be too tired, I do not know." Shuffling about, Sherlock casually walked over to a tree and looked up it, noticing the branches would be suitable for a good climb. Then he noticed John's glare and authoritative stare that he dropped his head with a sigh, beginning to sulk again.

Beside him John smiled to himself, glad that Sherlock was not going to get them in trouble, and continued to stand in the shadows. The party drew to a close only a few hours later, and he went with some of the other servants to prepare their carriage to leave again. If he expected praise for keeping Sherlock in check he would have been disappointed, but luckily he did not.

"Ohhhh there you are," his voice rang out in sing song when he found John rounding around the mansion by himself, "Well, well, well. Where's the little Prince run off too?" The thin line that was his mouth smirked as he leaned on a mahogany cane, the top leafed in gold in the model of a snake.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir," John said apologetically, looking down at the ground. "Please, forgive me." As if it was his fault that Sherlock never told him anything. When James did not move to let him by, or otherwise indicate that he was dismissed, John knelt in front of him. "Do you need anything, sir?" he asked softly.

"Hmph, such a good little slave, how precious. I sent Sebastian off somewhere else so do not fret, he will not lay his hand on you. As for myself, I hate to muddy my clothes." Gazing down at him, James tilted his head as he did before and lifting his cane, let the end of it rest on John's left shoulder before it was placed under his chin, forcing him to look up at him, forcing the locked gaze.

"What do I need... well I guess that depends, you would be willing to do anything for you master if he said so? And be honest John, or would you rather possibly shove aside a few requests."

John thought back to the grave robbing and the dissection. "I'd do anything," he answered confidently. "Are you asking that for a reason, sir?" He knew, by whatever rules governed propriety, he should not ask, but he was curious why that mattered.

"And what of me? I may not be your proper Master, though in terms of caste or social class I am well above you. So, power is power," by now James sat on his haunches and held John's chin, his other hand gripped his shirt to pull him forward, "What would you do? By all means I have control and not the ownership of you, only Sebastian and everyone else that lives in this house. So what's the final word?"

"I would do whatever you said, sir," John agreed, "So long as it didn't conflict with orders from my master, or his father, or do anything to put their safety and comfort in danger." He did not know where he thought of that, but it sounded nice so he went with it. It also didn't sound unreasonable to him, so if someone asked why he didn't do something he'd been asked to do, he didn't think they'd question his reasoning.

"Ah, the typical answer I was hoping not to hear. An answer that would have suited any lord or lady, though I am a bit different," his thumb crept to the corner of John's mouth at he continued to tsk, "I think then the two of you might have a small problem. If Sherlock wants someone to truly trust then he might need someone better than you, someone that can think on his own when absolutely necessary and yet submissive. Also not submissive to just about anyone or else they are easssily corrupted." With that James rested his thumb in between John's lips, mimicking his actions earlier. John frowned against it.

"I'm actually under a standing order to think for myself, sir," he murmured, remembering his conversation with Sherlock earlier, "However, one can think for himself and still know his place, and I am working very hard to remain on that side of the line." And so, though Sherlock had told him to never act that way with him, John took James' finger gently into his mouth, because he knew that was what the man wanted, and there was a mad, dangerous look in his eyes that John had no intention of provoking further. James raised an eyebrow and sighed for a moment, shaking his head before looking up once more.

"You really are a different one, though a bit disappointing and an idiot. Yes. Cute but nothing special. Now get your filthy mouth of my flinger," he said in the most friendly way possible, even closing his eyes with a smile when the back of his other hand suddenly slapped John across the face. The body rolled off, though very much uncaring, James stood quickly, walking away without watching John collect himself. "I look forward to our next meeting, maybe by then you might have some more fighting spirit in you, stop being pathetic. Ta!"

Hand to his cheek, John looked accusingly up at James for a moment before deciding that he probably should have expected something like that and heading over to the stables to help with the horses, like he'd meant to. He did not think he was pathetic, just nervous and cautious and trying his best to just do what people wanted him to do. Sighing, he helped lead the main carriage to the front of the house to pass off to one of the host's footmen, then jogged back to the one he was meant to sit in, sitting down and dropping his head into his hands.

"John, John, John!" Alex's head poked in and he slowly climbed inside, "Marvelous, dear boy you did it! First time a major event involving the Holmes family where no occurrences took place! I am so proud of you- John... John what's wrong?" The elderly man's face fell as he sat across from John and because he was leaned forward, he patted his back, rubbing gently.

"I'm sorry, I'm fine. Master Sherlock and one of the host's children had a bit of a run-in earlier, and they didn't get along too well. I'm afraid the other young man was a bit furious with me when we saw each other a few moments ago, though I can't imagine what I did to offend him." Smiling sheepishly, he sat up again and regarded the elderly man. "Thank you for your concern."

"The host's... you don't mean James Moriarty, son of the Moriarty household?!" Alex shook John's shoulders for confirmation and when he saw the small nod, his stomach flipped and he leaned back. Now he was the one with his head in his hands.

"If you can John, please stay away from that boy, furthermore try to keep Master Sherlock away from him. He- ... I knew Master Sherlock was a bit peculiar thought that one... he's different, I have seen him on a few other occasions. Something deeply troubles him, something festering that makes his mind twisted and not right. And, oh no I bet he did that too," Alex finally noticed the bruise that would have fit the size of a hand, "We shall have to cool that when we get back to the estate ok? Might sting a bit too."

"Thank you, sir," John said softly, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. There was no intention to talk to James at all, especially not after what had happened with him and Sherlock in the garden, but there wasn't much he could have done about it. "I'll do my best not to run into him again," he agreed, though he wished there was something he could do, short of locking himself in Sherlock's room, to guarantee that.


End file.
